


only human (in that sad earthly scene)

by sara_wolfe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aziraphale's just a little bit stupid, Crowley's been stupid in love with Aziraphale for thousands of years, M/M, Pining, like so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22206967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_wolfe/pseuds/sara_wolfe
Summary: After the failure of the would-be Apocalypse, Aziraphale's been tasked with redeeming Crowley's soul and bringing him back to Heaven.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2019





	only human (in that sad earthly scene)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curious_Lissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curious_Lissa/gifts).



> Written for the Good Omens Holiday Exchange on DW.

“Welcome, everyone, to Operation: Lost Sheep!”

Around him, angels were groaning in frustration, but Aziraphale sat forward eagerly. He’d been looking forward to the new Heavenly initiative ever since he’d heard rumors about it months ago. Gabriel hadn’t been very forthcoming with the details last week when he’d invited Aziraphale to the meeting today, but he’d assured Aziraphale that he was a perfect fit for what they had planned. And Aziraphale couldn’t wait. 

Gabriel, himself, stood at the front of the room behind an elevated podium, beaming out at the assembled Host. Behind him, a holographic display projected the words “Operation: Lost Sheep” in glowing letters several feet high on the far wall. Occasionally the letters spun around, rearranged themselves, and then reformed in their original configuration. The effect was mesmerizing - and maybe a little nausea inducing - but Aziraphale wasn’t one to complain. Much. At least not where Gabriel or any of the other Archangels could hear him.

“Thank you, everyone, for taking the time out of your day to come to our presentation,” Gabriel went on, ignoring the grumbling and groaning still coming from the crowd. “You have all been invited here today because you are an integral part of our newest mission: Operation: Lost Sheep!”

He paused dramatically, waving a hand at the display behind him, and the projection changed to a cartoonish picture of a sad-looking sheep. Aziraphale loved it. 

“Now, some of you may be asking, ‘Exactly what is Operation: Lost Sheep?’” Gabriel paused, expectantly, but when no one from the crowd spoke up, he rolled his eyes and turned to look at Sandalphon. 

“What is Operation: Lost Sheep, Gabriel?” Sandalphon parroted, obediently. Aziraphale felt guilty for not having realized that Gabriel wanted him to speak up on cue, but Gabriel had already moved on before Aziraphale could start to figure out how to apologize. Ah, well, maybe he’d have a chance later after the presentation.

“Allow me to enlighten you!” Gabriel boomed, projecting his voice to the back of the room. “Operation: Lost Sheep is our newest mission on Earth and Below. We have been tasked, by the Almighty Herself, to bring our lost sheep, our wayward lambs, home to the flock.”

There was a moment of silence, and then someone shouted from the middle of the crowd, “You’re talking about demons!”

“Indeed I am!” Gabriel confirmed, and Aziraphale felt a little thrill run through him at the words. Reforming demons! He’d never head anything more dangerous, more exciting. He wondered if Gabriel was going to choose him. Oh, he hoped Gabriel chose him!

Realizing that Gabriel was still talking, Aziraphale tuned back in to the rest of the presentation. Gabriel was his usual verbose self as he delivered the rest of his speech, outlining his plan for convincing their fallen brethren to Rise again; there was a lot of quoting of Scriptures and talk of Divine Justice that Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure he was following, but he was confident that it would all work out in the end. He trusted Gabriel.

As Gabriel’s presentation came to a close, Aziraphale burst into exuberant applause, a sentiment only lukewarmly echoed by his fellow angels. Aziraphale leaped to his feet as soon as Gabriel started to make his way down from the podium, pushing none-too-carefully through the crowd to get to Gabriel’s side. 

“Gabriel!” he called out, drawing the Archangel’s attention away from the conversation he was currently engaged in. Aziraphale blushed scarlet when he realized just how rude his interruption had been, but he was determined not to let nerves stop him now that he had Gabriel’s focus. “Gabriel, I would like very much to talk to you about being a part of Operation: Lost Sheep.”

“A moment, please,” Gabriel said, to his companion, and Aziraphale’s heart sank when he realized that Gabriel had been talking to Michael and Uriel. But he tried not to let his anxiety show on his face. “Aziraphale,” Gabriel went on, “how can I help you?”

“I wanted to volunteer, Gabriel,” Aziraphale told him. “I want to volunteer to be a part of Operation: Lost Sheep.”

“Well, of course you will be,” Gabriel said, waving a dismissive hand. “Why do you think I wanted you to come to this meeting?”

“I - I wasn’t sure,” Aziraphale admitted, sheepishly. 

“You’re not only going to be involved,” Gabriel reassured him, “but I have a very special, very important role for you.” Gabriel paused for dramatic effect, his eyes literally twinkling in the lights. “Aziraphale, I am assigning you to work directly at redeeming the Serpent of Eden.”

Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his excited gasp, and he didn’t even try. The Serpent of Eden was the most gossiped-about demon Upstairs, save for Lucifer, himself. Rumors flew about the Serpent, each more outlandish than the last. There were even whispers that he’d single-handedly slew the Antichrist and averted the Apocalypse between Heaven and Hell that had been meant to happen a few months ago. Aziraphale would never admit this out loud, but he’d been grateful that the Apocalypse had never happened; he would have led his platoon into battle at Gabriel’s command because it was his duty, but he hadn’t enjoyed the possibility. If anything, he wanted to thank the Serpent for saving him from having to fight. 

Aziraphale had actually met the Serpent, once, although he doubted the demon would have bothered to remember him.

Plus, the Serpent was Hell’s agent on Earth, and if Aziraphale was meant to bring him back to the light, then he would ~~get to~~ have to go to Earth, too. Granted, he had been down to Earth a few times in the last six thousand years, but nothing official. 

Nothing that Gabriel knew about, at any rate. 

It had been a while since his last trip down, but he was fairly confident that he would be able to get around just fine. He was resourceful, after all, and how much could Earth have changed in only six thousand years?

* * *

A lot, as it turned out. Earth had changed quite a lot from the last time he’d been down there. Their cities weren’t quite as he remembered. They were quite immense, if he was being honest with himself, and there were so many more people, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was more than a little lost in the midst of all the noise and bustle surrounding him. 

Gabriel had given him the bare bones details of his assignment back Upstairs: find the Serpent and do whatever it took to bring him back into Heaven’s good graces. Gabriel hadn’t been very forthcoming with the details of exactly how he was meant to accomplish that task; he’d simply clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder, told him how much faith he had in him, and ordered him to the Quartermaster to be outfitted for his journey down to Earth. He hadn’t even told Aziraphale where to locate the Serpent. He’d just had him deposited in the general vicinity with the instructions to “follow the stench of evil.”

Well, Aziraphale was catching the stench of something, but he wasn’t sure it was evil. At least, not of the demonic sort. No, this smell was coppery and sharp; it had been a long time since he’d smelled human blood, but it was unmistakable. And the smell of blood was accompanied by soft crying and the feeling of distress. 

His orders had been clear: look only for the Serpent and do not get distracted by anything else on Earth. But, he couldn’t just ignore someone who needed his help. 

And that someone turned out to be a little girl sprawled in the middle of the path, bawling her eyes out. Both her knees and her hands were bleeding, and there was a wheeled board nearby that she must have fallen off. 

“Hello, there,” Aziraphale said, softly, crouching down so that he was closer to the child’s level. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“I fe-fe-fell off my skateboard!” the girl wailed, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“That certainly looks like it hurts,” Aziraphale commented, and the girl nodded. “Would you like me to fix it for you?”

“Do you have some band-aids?” the girl asked, sniffling. 

“No,” Aziraphale told her, “but I have something much better.” Pausing for just a second to catch her attention, he added, dramatically, “I have magic.”

The flow of tears stopped as the girl stared at him, blinking in confusion. “Magic’s not real,” she finally stated. 

“It certainly is!” Aziraphale said, in mock outrage. “I will have you know, young lady, that I am quite the magician. Would you like me to prove it to you?”

“Do it,” the girl challenged, with the air of someone who didn’t believe a word he was saying.

“Well, any good magic is all about misdirection,” Aziraphale said, bringing his hand close to the girl’s left ear. “You want your audience to be completely surprised by what you’re about to - hey, what’s this doing behind your ear?” 

Grinning, he brandished a shiny pound coin in his hand. The girl huffed an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. 

“That’s the oldest trick in the book,” she told him, impatiently. “Even I can do that one. You hid the coin in your sleeve and dropped it into your hand when I wasn’t looking.”

“But you were looking at my hand the entire time, weren’t you?” Aziraphale pointed out. 

“Well, maybe,” the girl said, slowly. “But, what about my knees and my hands? You said you were gonna fix ‘em!”

“Didn’t I?” Aziraphale asked. 

The girl tore her eyes away from his hand to look at her now-healed knees and hands, mouth falling open in a silent ‘o’. “How’d you do that?”

“Magic,” Aziraphale said, and then he handed her the coin before she could ask any more questions. “And if you want just a little more magic, I’m pretty sure there’s an ice cream cart just around that corner up there.”

“Do you think they have my favorite?” the girl asked. 

“I know they do,” Aziraphale told her, with a conspiratorial smile. 

As he watched the little girl skate down the path, humming tunelessly to herself, Aziraphale became aware of a presence looming behind him. Slowly straightening from his crouch, he turned around to see a man standing a few feet away, watching him. Tall and thin, dressed in blacks and grays with dark sunglasses and flame-red hair, the man at first glace appeared completely normal and unassuming. Aziraphale knew better. 

“You know,” the man said, with a curious tilt of his head, “I couldn’t figure out why I could suddenly sense an angel down here. After all, Heaven hasn’t been interested in having a permanent presence here on Earth since the Garden and the angels who guarded the gates. And I couldn’t imagine why they’d start now - at least not until I saw you for myself.” The Serpent of Eden smiled at him, revealing far more teeth than should ever exist in a human mouth. “Hello, Aziraphale.”

* * *

Of all the places on Earth where Aziraphale had expected to find the Serpent of Eden, a duck pond in St. James Park had never been on that list. Neither so, a dining establishment with soft music and pristine white tablecloths. Yet here they were, with Aziraphale gingerly settling himself into a chair pulled out for him by the Serpent - no, Crowley, he was calling himself - and watching as Crowley dropped gracefully into the chair opposite the table from him.

Almost before they’d finished sitting down, a waiter had appeared from out of nowhere as if Crowley had summoned him from the ether. The waiter held out a bottle of wine for inspection, pouring a generous measure in each glass at Crowley’s silent nod. Then he disappeared almost as quickly as he first appeared, before Aziraphale even had a chance to ask about food. 

“Um,” he started, hesitantly. 

“The kitchen staff knows my usual order,” Crowley told him, as if he knew what Aziraphale wanted. “I had them double it; I think it’s something you’ll enjoy.”

“What do you think you know about what I enjoy?” Aziraphale asked, feeling defensive. What could a demon know about him?

“Angel,” Crowley drawled, pinning him with a pointed look, even through those damnably dark glasses of his. “I’ve been following your little illicit jaunts down to Earth for thousands of years, now. I’ve been watching you.”

The demon could know a lot about him, apparently. Aziraphale swallowed nervously, feeling suddenly very exposed under Crowley’s too-knowing gaze. “You have?” he asked in a small voice.

No one was supposed to know about the times he’d sneaked down to Earth. If Gabriel ever found out what he had been doing-

“Mm-hmm,” Crowley hummed, noncommittally. “Hiding children on the Ark, watching Shakespeare at the Globe, your short stint in a French prison - you’ve been a very busy angel, Angel.” He beamed at Aziraphale, positively radiating smug satisfaction.

Aziraphale’s head was swimming, and he latched onto the first thing he could think of. “Wait a minute, how do you know about the Ark? No one could have known what I’d done unless they - you were where all the other children came from! I couldn’t remember bringing that many on the boat, but I didn’t know how else they could have gotten there.”

“Guilty as charged,” Crowley said, not looking guilty in the least. “God wanted the children dead; I was defying Her. But what was your excuse, Angel?” he pressed, leaning forward like he couldn’t wait to hear Aziraphale’s answer.

“Well, I, uh-” Aziraphale floundered for a second before abruptly changing tactics. “How else could you have known what I’ve done?” he demanded. “You weren’t at any of those other places!”

“I told you,” Crowley reminded him, “I’ve been watching you. You don’t think you really escaped the Bastille by the mercy of the executioner, did you?”

“I - I hadn’t thought about it,” Aziraphale confessed. 

Before Aziraphale could say anything else, the waiter was back with their dinner. He presented the dishes with a flourish before heading back to the kitchen. Aziraphale took a minute to properly appreciate the absolute work of art on the plate in front of him before he went back to considering Crowley’s question.

He didn’t remember much of the actual Bastille, to be honest, but he did remember being scared that Gabriel would catch him. Bad enough to have been down on Earth in the first place (and for crepes, no less!), but then to risk discorporation on top of that - if Gabriel had found him out, he’d have discorporated Aziraphale, himself. So when the executioner had marched down and grabbed his jailer, instead, Aziraphale had just assumed that they were finally coming to their senses about the entire Revolution thing. 

“Are you saying that you’re the reason that I escaped that day?” he asked, while he ate. 

“You’re welcome,” Crowley said, sketching out a tiny bow. “It was actually the closest I’d gotten to you since, oh, Rome, I’d say; I was almost tempted to reveal myself, but I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Well, thank you,” Aziraphale said, feeling awkward. “Did you, um, did you do that a lot? Intervene when I was down on Earth?”

“Once or twice,” Crowley said, in a studiously casual voice. Once or twice he’d admit to, Aziraphale figured; but who knew how many other times over the years? “What were you even doing in the Bastille?” Crowley went on, after a moment. “They were in the middle of a Revolution; what were you thinking wandering around there dressed like that?”

Aziraphale felt the tips of his ears start to burn. “I wanted some crepes,” he admitted, sheepishly. “No one makes crepes quite like the French.”

“Crepes?” Crowley repeated, an incredulous tone in his voice. “Angel, are you seriously telling me that you almost got beheaded for some crepes?”

“They were very good crepes,” Aziraphale protested, weakly. 

Crowley snorted out an inelegant laugh that earned him an angry look from their neighboring diners that he ignored. “You’re going to really enjoy dessert, then,” he remarked. 

“Why?” Aziraphale started, but then the waiter reappeared to set a couple plates down in front of them, and he started to chuckle. “Are these-”

Crowley was already nodding before he’d finished his sentence. “Crepes Suzette,” he said, with a laugh.

* * *

Much like the demon, himself, Crowley’s home was nothing like Aziraphale could have ever expected. Austerely decorated at first glance, but when he looked a little closer, he kept discovering the most fascinating little details. A fully-stocked kitchen that looked like it had never been used, for one thing. A luxurious-looking bed that clearly saw regular use, even though demons - like angels - had no need for sleep. An entire room filled with the most beautiful plants he’d seen outside of Eden.

“This is simply amazing,” Aziraphale said, trailing his fingers along the leaves of a sprawling, viney plant. Then, he found himself stuck because the plant had thrown out creepers to wrap around his hand and wrist, trapping him in place. He tried to subtly tug himself free, to no avail. 

“Behave yourself,” Crowley said, crossly, and Aziraphale was afraid for a second that he’d done something wrong, until he realized that Crowley was talking to the plant. Under Crowley’s stern gaze, the vines shrunk away from Aziraphale, trembling in fear. Aziraphale waited until Crowley had looked away and then he reached out again to give the plant a reassuring pat. 

“Don’t coddle them,” Crowley said, and this time his comment was directed at Aziraphale, who snatched his hand away with a guilty flush.

“Your home really is simply wonderful,” he said, trying to change the subject. He followed Crowley out of the plant room, to continue their impromptu tour. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Well, it’s not like Heaven bothered to set you up someplace,” Crowley told him, “and I couldn’t very well just leave you out there all alone.” Gesturing Aziraphale into one of the chairs in the living room, he dropped into another and summoned a bottle of alcohol into his hand. “Besides, who knows what kind of trouble you’d be getting up to out there?”

Aziraphale hunched his shoulders, a defensive retort rising to his lips, but then he caught sight of the way Crowley’s lips twitched. “You’re teasing me,” he stated, flatly. 

“I know Heaven doesn’t have much of a sense of humor,” Crowley told him, passing him a glass of liquor, “but if you’re going to be down here on Earth for a while, you’ll learn that humans love to laugh.”

“I have been around humans before,” Aziraphale reminded him. He took a sip of his drink and then closed his eyes in happiness; whatever Crowley had just handed him was wonderful, and he wanted more, immediately. 

“But not for very long,” Crowley pointed out, “and then you go a while before coming back down again - your last time down here was, what? During the War? When you were playing spy for British Intelligence?”

“How do you know about that?” Aziraphale demanded, half curious and half embarrassed. Sixty-some years later, and he still couldn’t believe he’d almost gotten discorporated like that. It seemed to be becoming a theme.

Crowley grinned at him. “Does the name ‘Secret Agent Anthony J’ mean anything to you?” he asked. 

“That was you?” Aziraphale asked, wracking his brain as he tried to remember all the details of that night. 

He’d just been double-crossed by that woman who’d claimed she was British Intelligence and he’d been staring down the barrel of a gun at certain discorporation. He’d been a little preoccupied at the time, but he’d still caught sight of a man dancing down the aisle of the church, claiming to be the real British Intelligence. And he’d warned them of a bomb heading their way, warned the Nazis to run if they wanted to live. 

And what could Aziraphale do but use a miracle to get himself and the stranger out of danger? He’d looked for the man in the rubble of the church after, but he hadn’t found him. He’d only found the bag of priceless books that he must have unconsciously brought with them when he’d teleported them out of the church. And then he’d been too busy returning the books to safety and getting back to Heaven before he was discovered to be missing to worry about some stranger. 

“You were in danger,” Crowley told him, “and it didn’t look like you were going to get out of it on your own, so I stepped in. Redirected a little bomb, scooped your books up on the way out-”

“You saved the books?” Aziraphale cried, getting a wry look from Crowley.

“Why do you sound happier about that than about me saving your life?” he asked. 

“Those books were irreplaceable,” Aziraphale protested. “I could have always gotten another corporation.” He paused as something occurred to him. “I was never really in any danger, in all those times you rescued me,” he said, slowly. “No matter how angry Gabriel was, he would have eventually given me a new body. So, why did you bother?”

Crowley shrugged, looking suddenly uncomfortable with the question. “I dunno,” he said, with a jerky shrug. “I just remembered you from Eden, and I guess-” He coughed into his fist, cheeks bright red. “You seemed like a decent sort, for an angel. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“But you were putting yourself in danger,” Aziraphale protested, a little more hotly than he’d intended. He thought the liquor, on top of the wine from dinner, was starting to get to him. “You could have been hurt or even discorporated trying to help me. So why would you do it?”

“So, why did Heaven send you down to Earth?” Crowley asked, in a blatant attempt to change the topic. “They’ve never cared about having a representative down here, before.”

“Well,” Aziraphale hemmed, trying to figure out the best thing to say. 

He couldn’t very well admit that he’d come down to Earth to try and save Crowley’s soul; as nice as he’d been, he was still a demon, and he’d probably start throwing hellfire or something. Or so he figured; he hadn’t been around many demons, but he knew if one walked up and told him that they were going to try and make him Fall, he’d fight them with everything he had. No, he had to take this carefully, had to make Crowley want to rejoin Heaven of his own accord.

“I think the near-Apocalypse opened a lot of eyes up there,” he said. “Gabriel wants us to have a stronger presence on Earth, to make more a direct impact, like in the old days.”

Crowley snorted, taking a hefty swig of his drink. “Didn’t think Gabriel gave a damn about what happened to Earth, after the last time I saw him.”

“When did-” Aziraphale started, but then he remembered the last time Gabriel had actually been on Earth. “Oh, that’s right, you were the one who stopped the Apocalypse.”

“Is that the story Upstairs?” Crowley asked, sounding distinctly unimpressed. “Figures that’s the one thing they’d get wrong.”

“You mean, you didn’t kill the Antichrist and stop the Apocalypse?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Do I look like someone who goes around killing children?” Crowley demanded, looking offended. When Aziraphale hesitated - how was he supposed to answer that? Crowley was a demon, after all - Crowley shook his head. “I didn’t kill anyone,” he said, shortly. “And I didn’t stop the Apocalypse, either. That was all Adam’s doing; I was just along for the ride.”

“Adam, being the Antichrist?” Aziraphale hazarded. 

“He’s a nice kid,” Crowley told him. “I’ll introduce you, if you want.” He yawned suddenly, briefly flashing that unsettling expanse of teeth before shifting his corporation to a more human-looking one. “Sorry. It’s been a long few days, and I’ve gotten so much into the habit of sleeping that now I can’t go without it.”

“Well, then I should go-” Aziraphale started, half-rising from his seat.

“Go where?” Crowley interrupted him, waving him back down. “I doubt Heaven was kind enough to set you up with a place to stay down here.” 

He waited, expectantly, and Aziraphale shook his head. Gabriel hadn’t seemed very concerned about what Aziraphale was actually going to do once he was down on Earth.

“You might as well just stay here, then,” Crowley said, gesturing to his flat. “I’ve got a spare room; you’re more than welcome to it if you want.”

“I - I don’t think my side would like that very much,” Aziraphale said, hesitantly. 

Crowley waved away his concerns like he was swatting at a fly. “Eh, what Gabriel doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he insisted. “C’mon, Angel, are you really going to tell me you want to wander the cold, dark streets all night?”

“Well, when you put it that way-”

“That’s the spirit!” Crowley grinned at him, and then surprised Aziraphale further by summoning a tall stack of books with a snap of his fingers. “Here, I know how much you like to read, and I figure you’re not really one for sleeping, so-”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, touched by the oddly-considerate gesture. He hadn’t been expecting that from a demon.

“Just don’t wake me up before sunrise, and we’re good to go,” Crowley told him, pushing himself to his feet with another yawn. 

Aziraphale watched him amble off to his bedroom and then turned his attention back to the books, eager to dive in. Earth was turning out much better than he’d ever imagined.

* * *

He’d only been reading for an hour or so when he was interrupted by a wild scream that echoed through the entire flat. Dropping his book, Aziraphale shot to his feet, wings out and sword in hand as he looked around frantically to try and find the source of the danger. But the room was still dark and quiet; he could sense no one other than himself and Crowley, and after a minute he put away his wings and his sword. 

Another scream, this one coming from the direction that Crowley had disappeared in, earlier. Aziraphale crept down the hall toward Crowley’s bedroom, pushing open the door as silently as he could. Crowley was lying twisted in his sheets, tossing and turning, trapped in the throes of a nightmare. There were tear tracks streaking down his cheeks, and he let out a ragged, heartbreaking moan. 

A little voice in the back of Aziraphale’s mind - that sounded eerily like Gabriel - pointed out that Crowley was a demon, and whatever he was dreaming of, it was probably less than he truly deserved. But, deserved or not, Aziraphale just couldn’t let Crowley lie there and suffer. Not when he had the power to do something about it. 

Tip-toeing across the room as quietly as he could, Aziraphale reached out and brushed his fingers against Crowley’s sweaty brow. He probed just deep enough to find the source of Crowley’s distress, catching flashes of images - a house on fire, a child screaming - and then he pulled back in horror. Had Crowley - was he really capable of harming a child? The images suggested that he certainly was. 

But he remembered Crowley’s offended look when Aziraphale had told him that Heaven thought he’d killed the Antichrist. Remembered all the children millenia ago who’d lived because Crowley had sneaked them onto the Ark. And he just couldn’t imagine that Crowley being able to hurt a child. There had to be some other kind of explanation.

Reaching out again, he put his hand gently back on Crowley’s forehead. “Rest,” he whispered, putting a touch of power behind the word when Crowley tried to twist away from his touch. “Sleep peacefully and dream of only good things.”

Crowley slowly settled as his power took hold, lines smoothing out on his face as he relaxed back against the pillows. Aziraphale watched him sleep for a moment more, then crept out of the room as quietly as he’d entered. 

He had a hard time going back to his reading, after that. He spent the rest of the night reliving the pain in Crowley’s voice as he screamed in his sleep, and by the time the sun finally came up hours later, he hadn’t managed to even touch another book. 

Crowley was up not long after the sun, shuffling out of the bedroom. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses and his eyes were barely open as he squinted into the sunshine pouring though his open windows, but a quick gesture had a pair of black curtains materializing over the windows and blocking out the light. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he yawned, widely, as he looked around the room. 

“Morning,” he greeted Aziraphale, the word swallowed up by another enormous yawn. “How was your night? Enjoy your books?”

“Oh, yes, very much,” Aziraphale lied, shooting the stack a guilty look. He hadn’t even finished one. “How about you? Did you sleep well?”

“Maybe too well,” Crowley admitted, as he walked into his kitchen with Aziraphale trailing behind. “All I want to do right now is crawl back into that bed and sleep for about another month.”

“You don’t normally sleep well?” Aziraphale asked, curiously. 

“Not lately,” Crowley told him. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother sleeping at all, with all the nightmares. But last night-” He paused, suddenly, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he looked over at Aziraphale. “Last night I had someone else in the flat,” he said, slowly. “You wouldn’t know anything about why I didn’t have any nightmares last night, would you?”

“You sounded so distressed,” Aziraphale tried to explain. “I couldn’t just sit by and not do something to help you.”

He half expected Crowley to be angry with him - like he imagined he’d be if he found a demon using magic on him - but Crowley once again surprised him. 

“Thanks,” he said, gruffly. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Aziraphale replied. He hesitated for a moment, but then decided to plunge forward. If Crowley kicked him out, so be it, but he had to know. “Um, I saw a couple things in your dreams. A child, and fire…”

Something pained flashed quickly across Crowley’s face before he turned away to grab something out of his refrigerator, and by the time he turned around again, he was wearing his sunglasses to hide his eyes. He kept himself busy chopping some kind of vegetable for several moments, not speaking while he focused on making precise, even cuts. Aziraphale forced himself to stay quiet, determined to wait until Crowley had given him some kind of explanation. 

“When Armageddon first kicked off,” he finally said, his voice low, “I was put in charge of switching the Antichrist baby with the baby of the American ambassador. Only there were more people than should have been there, and babies got all mixed around, and the baby the ambassador’s wife ended up with wasn’t the Antichrist. Just a normal human boy. But I didn’t know that, and I was trying to keep the whole thing from ever getting started, so I inserted myself as the boy’s nanny.”

He paused for a second, dumping the chopped veggies into a saucepan and making them sizzle as they hit the oil. He added eggs and spices, stirring the concoction every once in a while until he was satisfied with what he saw. Turning off the stove top, he put everything on a plate and put it down in front of Aziraphale with a flourish, handing him a fork.

“Breakfast,” he announced, unnecessarily, and then sat down in the chair on the other side of the table, dropping his chin into his hand. Aziraphale noticed that Crowley hadn’t made himself anything to eat, but Crowley was looking at him so expectantly that he started to eat. “Where was I?”

“Wrong Antichrist?” Aziraphale prompted. 

“Right,” Crowley agreed. “I never meant to get attached to the boy,” he said, shaking his head. “I was just trying to keep him from one day destroying the world. But somewhere along the line, the kid just wormed his way in and wouldn’t leave. And then Hell found out that he wasn’t really the Antichrist, and they found out that I cared for him-” Crowley broke off, coughing, and reached under his sunglasses to wipe at something that looked suspiciously like tears. “They locked Warlock and Harriet inside their home and lit it on fire. It was still burning when I got there, but I couldn’t find them when I went inside, and I thought-”

“You thought Hell had killed them,” Aziraphale realized. 

“I didn’t find out until later that Warlock had broken one of the windows so that he and his mother could escape,” Crowley said. “Not even a scratch on them, it turned out, but for a while, I thought I’d lost them both. And ever since that night, I keep having nightmares about it. Only in my nightmares, they never escaped, and I was too late-”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Aziraphale said, the only thing he could think of in the moment. 

Crowley jerked his shoulder in a shrug. “I’ll live with the nightmares for a while, and then something else will replace them,” he said, sounding not nearly as bothered by that prospect as he should have been. “Warlock and Harriet are all right, and that’s what counts.” He straightened up, suddenly, looking straight at Aziraphale, rather than over his shoulder as he had been. “How’d you like to meet them?”

“Meet your humans?” Aziraphale said, slowly. 

“Well, they’re not mine, but yeah,” Crowley replied. “If you’re going to be down on Earth for a while, you might as well start meeting some of the people who live here. And I think you’d really like these two.”

Aziraphale couldn’t really see Crowley’s eyes though his dark glasses, but he imagined a bit of a manic look in them. He figured that Crowley wasn’t offering to introduce him out of a genuine sense of friendship, but more that he wanted to check on the humans after his nightmare and he was using Aziraphale as an excuse. But, he was determined to not make Crowley regret that decision, to prove his trustworthiness.

“I would be honored to meet your friends,” Aziraphale told him.

* * *

The house in Tadfield was small, and cozy, and full of love. So full, in fact, that Aziraphale could feel it even as they were still driving up the street. He wondered if Crowley was able to sense it; demons couldn’t sense that kind of emotion, or so the long-held belief in Heaven went, but Aziraphale had seen enough from Crowley since coming to Earth to realize that perhaps Heaven had been - well, not wrong, per se, but misinformed. 

There was a woman kneeling in the dirt in front of the house they pulled up next to. She waved at Crowley as he got out of the driver’s seat, sending little bits of dirt flying everywhere. “Warlock!” she called, turning back toward the house, “Anthony’s here!”

There was an excited yell from inside the house, and then a small blur shot out the front door, headed unerringly toward Crowley. “Nanny!”

The blur turned out to be a child, a long-haired boy who threw himself straight into Crowley’s arms, trusting the demon to not let him fall. And Crowley caught the boy and swung him around in an arc, making him laugh wildly as he wrapped his arms around Crowley in a tight hug.

“I missed you so much!” Warlock cried, as Crowley set him back down on the ground. 

“I’ve only been gone three days,” Crowley told him.

“You’ve been gone forever,” Warlock corrected him, solemnly. “You haven’t even seen our new tree house, yet.”

“New tree house?” Crowley asked, and then Aziraphale didn’t hear any more as the boy was dragging Crowley away into the back garden. Which left him standing rather awkwardly with Warlock’s mother and no proper introduction.

“Er, hello,” he offered, giving the woman a small smile and a wave. 

Luckily for him, she didn’t seem nonplussed by anything that had just happened. She looked after her son with a fond smile on her face before standing up and walking over to Aziraphale with her hand extended. 

“Harriet Dowling,” she introduced herself, as he shook her hand. “Anthony called ahead and mentioned he’d be bringing a friend with him.”

“Crowley called me his friend?” Aziraphale blurted out, before he could think better of it.

Harriet chuckled. “He is rather mysterious when it comes to his feelings, isn’t he?” she said, affection clear in her voice. 

“He’s certainly…something,” Aziraphale agreed, hesitantly. 

“Do you have a name, Anthony’s friend?” Harriet asked. 

“Aziraphale,” he replied, but then he wondered if he should have chosen some kind of alias, like Crowley had done. Probably not to many humans walking around named after angels, after all. 

Harriet didn’t seem to find his name unusual, though. “Pleasure to meet you, Aziraphale,” she said. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea while we wait for the boys to finish playing around?”

“I would,” Aziraphale said, as he followed Harriet into the small, cozy house. 

He took the seat she’d indicated in the living room while she disappeared into the kitchen. The house had the same loved feeling on the inside as the outside, only stronger. The strength of the emotion wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and he could feel himself practically melting in contentment. Clearly Harriet and her son cared for each other greatly. And he was pleased to see that they had such a strong influence on Crowley’s life; it would make it that much easier to redeem him and raise him back up to Heaven.

He was pulled from his musings by the sound of Harriet returning from the kitchen, a tea tray held in her hands. She handed him a cup as she sat down on the sofa beside him, and he wrapped his hands carefully around the mug, taking a sip of what turned out to be truly-excellent tea.

“So, have you known Crowley long?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Anthony’s been with us practically since the day Warlock was born,” Harriet told him, handing him a picture from the coffee table of a stern-looking woman in sunglasses holding an infant. “Of course, he was still Ashtoreth back then - and he still is, some days.” Harriet giggled, looking suddenly years younger. “Once every couple of months or so, we’ll get Arthur to watch the boys, and then Deirdre, Anthony, and I will go out on the town for a ladies’ night.”

“So, Crowley’s a fixture in your life,” Aziraphale said, looking over the family pictures on the wall, most of them featuring Crowley in some fashion. “Are you and he-” Aziraphale trailed off, not sure how to finish the question. He remembered what Crowley had said about Warlock being important to him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there was another reason at play. 

“Oh, no,” Harriet said, thankfully not sounding offended by the almost-question. “No, after my divorce, I decided that I didn’t need the hassle of that kind of relationship, again. Anthony is simply a very good friend; nothing more.”

“You were married?” Aziraphale asked, carefully. He had been wondering where the American ambassador was; this didn’t look like the kind of place an ambassador would live. 

“For about five years,” Harriet told him. “Well, I was married to him; he was married to his job. Warlock and I were a distant second. And I put up with that until Warlock was almost three, but the breaking point-” She trailed off, wiping surreptitiously at her eyes. “Let’s just say that Tad turned out to not be the man I thought he was. But Anthony convinced me to leave, even found us this house and stayed with us for a few years until I was able to get back on my feet. And even after he moved to London, he was here almost every day; he still comes by regularly to spend time with Warlock.”

“Sounds like you care for Crowley a great deal,” Aziraphale said. 

“Oh, Warlock and I couldn’t imagine our lives without Anthony,” Harriet told him. “He’s been a real godsend.”

Hearing a bright peal of laughter, Aziraphale turned to see Crowley staggering into the room, Warlock and a blond boy hanging from each of his arms and being pulled behind him across the floor. The boys were laughing and smiling, and the love Aziraphale could feel from them just about knocked him off his feet. 

“Yes,” he said, softly, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched Crowley with the boys. “Yes, he really is, isn’t he?”

* * *

“You’re going out of town?” Aziraphale asked, unsure if he’d just heard Crowley correctly. 

“For a few days,” Crowley told him, misting the last of his plants. “I should be back by the end of the week. You’re welcome to stay here while I’m gone - don’t coddle the plants, though. You’ve given them enough bad habits as it is.”

So saying, he turned and glared at the room full of greenery, making the plants visibly quiver in their pots. 

“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge,” Crowley went on, heading back toward the living room, “I don’t know if there’s actually anything in there right now - I usually just miracle up anything I need if I want to cook - but you’re welcome to whatever there is.”

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale pressed. 

“Just taking care of some business,” Crowley told him, without answering his question. “See you in a few days, yeah?”

And then he was gone out the front door without another word. 

Aziraphale stared at the closed door, uncomprehendingly. Business, Crowley had said. But he wasn’t human, he didn’t have a job. He didn’t have any business on Earth, unless - unless he was performing some kind of mission for Hell.

But that didn’t make any sense. Everything he’d learned from and about Crowley over the past few days indicated that Crowley wanted nothing anymore to do with Hell - and the feeling was mutual. Crowley’s part in stopping Armageddon had made him persona non grata both Downstairs and Up, and Aziraphale couldn’t imagine what Hell could possibly want from Crowley after what he’d done.

Well, he wasn’t going to get any answers until Crowley returned. But, he couldn’t just sit around for the next several days and do nothing. If nothing else, he had to find something to keep himself from dwelling on all the possibilities of what Crowley was up to. 

So he spent the next several days wandering around London and exploring the city. He’d already poked a little bit around Soho; now he branched out and familiarized himself with the rest of the city. He met people, discovered new and interesting places, enjoyed many different and wonderful restaurants. 

And he worried. He couldn’t help it; he was supposed to be down here specifically to redeem Crowley and bring him back into the Host, and here he was, alone, while Crowley was off somewhere mysterious doing who only knew what. He found himself anxious for Crowley to return home. 

Crowley had promised that he’d only be gone for a few days. By the time he came back, more than a week had passed. It was late at night when the door to the flat opened, and Aziraphale looked up from his book to see Crowley stumble in from the hallway, filthy, and injured, and clearly, utterly exhausted. He made it to the middle of the living room before he noticed Aziraphale, and then he stopped and blinked at him in confusion, like he wasn’t sure what Aziraphale was doing there.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, carefully, and Crowley looked at him silently for so long that he was afraid he wasn’t going to get an answer. 

Then, finally, Crowley seemed to shake himself all over, light coming back into his dull eyes. “Fine,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “Just - just gonna sleep.”

He headed toward his bedroom, stumbling into the wall as he moved unsteadily down the hallway before disappearing. There was nothing but silence for several seconds, and then a loud crash. Worried, Aziraphale followed him. 

He found Crowley sprawled on his bed, blankets hopelessly tangled around his legs. He was lying on his stomach, face mashed into the pillow at an awkward angle. The small lamp that had once stood on the table by the bed was now on the floor, the light bulb shattered into tiny pieces. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale prompted, cleaning up the broken lamp with a snap of his fingers. “Are you sure you’re all right?” When he didn’t get an answer, he continued, “Would you like me to heal those injuries for you?”

“They’ll go away on their own eventually,” Crowley mumbled into his pillow, words muffled by the fabric. 

Well, that wasn’t exactly a no, and Aziraphale couldn’t just let him lie there in pain, so he snapped his fingers and directed a bit of magic Crowley’s way. Crowley sighed as his injuries disappeared, slumping further into his bed. Aziraphale stood there, unsure if he should leave or not, when Crowley lifted his head just far enough to look at him. 

“If you’re gonna just stare at me, you might as well pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable,” he grumbled. 

Then before Aziraphale could do anything, Crowley snapped his fingers and summoned Aziraphale’s favorite chair from the living room, along with the book he’d been reading. Aziraphale sat down, still unable to take his eyes off Crowley. 

“What happened?” he finally asked, when the silence began to grow unbearable. “You said that you were taking care of business, but what could have resulted in you looking like this?”

Crowley groaned, and then flopped over on his back so that he was staring up at the ceiling. Still not looking at Aziraphale, but it was better than before. 

“You remember when I told you what Hell tried to do to Warlock and Harriet?” he said, after a long minute had passed. “Well, they figured out that kids are my weakness. I can’t hurt them, can’t stand watching them get hurt. And Hell can’t kill me - they tried, but they failed - so they do the next best thing to torture me.”

“They go after children as a way to hurt you,” Aziraphale said, horrified. 

“Hastur doesn’t actually kill the kids; he’s not a complete monster, and Hell has no use for kids’ souls, anyway,” Crowley told him. “But, he’s willing to do a hell of a lot, and he makes sure I know that it’s all my fault that it’s happening.”

“You can’t be blamed for what Hell does to people!” Aziraphale insisted, but Crowley wasn’t listening to him. 

“Hastur likes to call me up right before he starts,” Crowley went on, “and by the time I get there, it’s usually just in time to clean up the mess he leaves behind. This time, he was still there, and we got into a bit of a scuffle before he fled.”

‘A bit of a scuffle’ was a bit of an understatement, as far as Aziraphale was concerned. Crowley’s injuries would certainly suggest otherwise. 

“I took care of the kid, erased her memories,” Crowley went on. “No need for her to remember what happened.”

“I could lay a protection around the child and her family,” Aziraphale said, as inspiration struck. “Demons can’t circumvent angelic magic, after all, and I’m supposed to be down here to make a difference, aren’t I?”

Not the kind of difference he’d been originally assigned to, but he would find a way to justify the magic to Gabriel when he made his report. Besides, helping the humans that Crowley so clearly cared for would only make it easier to bring Crowley back to Heaven.

“You’d do that?” Crowley asked, sounding surprised. “Forgive me, Angel, but I thought Heaven had gotten out of the business of acting so directly in human affairs.”

“Well, it’s not just a human affair if Hell is getting involved,” Aziraphale said, “and that’s exactly what I’ll tell Gabriel, if he asks.”

Crowley smiled, crookedly. “You’re a good one, Angel,” he said, his words slurring slightly as his exhaustion started to catch up to him. 

Aziraphale smiled as the demon started to snore, softly. “So are you, my dear.”

* * *

“Where are you taking me?” Aziraphale asked, for probably the sixth time. 

His hands itched to pull off the magically-obscured sunglasses that Crowley had him wearing in place of a blindfold. To heighten the mystery, he’d claimed. Aziraphale was pretty sure he hated mystery.

“It’s a surprise, Angel,” Crowley said, just as patiently as he’d done the other five times. 

“But why are we driving?” Aziraphale protested. He couldn’t hear any distinct enough sounds to determine exactly where they were, and it was starting to make him anxious. Crowley could be taking him anywhere and he’d have no idea. “Couldn’t we have just teleported to where we’re going, like civilized beings?”

“You said that you wanted to experience Earth like humans do,” Crowley reminded him. “It’s a nice day, lots of sun; there’s nothing more human than taking a drive in the sunshine.”

“Yes, but-” Aziraphale started, and then he cut himself off with an abrupt squeak as Crowley took a corner on what felt like two wheels, the Bentley moving at a speed that made his heart leap into his throat. 

He let out another squeak when Crowley casually tossed an arm across his chest, pinning him gently against the back of his seat to keep him from being thrown around the car. His chest burned at every point of contact, echoed by a heat that he could feel creeping up into his cheeks. He swallowed hard and shifted in his seat, torn between pulling away from Crowley’s arm or just giving up and leaning all the rest of the way into the touch.

“Don’t worry, Angel, we’re almost there,” Crowley reassured him, misinterpreting the reason for his sudden silence. Aziraphale wasn’t too inclined to correct him. 

They drove in silence for a few more minutes before Aziraphale could feel the car finally start to slow down. They came to a smooth stop, and he reached for the glasses only to be stopped by the feel of Crowley’s hand on his wrist. 

“Bear with me for just another minute, Angel,” he said, his voice startlingly close to Aziraphale’s ear. “Trust me, this is going to be worth it.”

Aziraphale nodded, too overcome by some unnamed emotion to be able to speak. He sat quietly in his seat, making no move to get out of the car until he heard the passenger door of the Bentley open, and then Crowley guided him out of the car with a hand on his elbow. And he kept touching Aziraphale, one hand on his arm and the other on the small of his back as he steered him around the front of the car and up onto the sidewalk. They walked so close that they were touching from hip to chest, and Aziraphale could feel the heat of Crowley’s body seeping into his own. He soaked up the warmth. He _reveled_ in it. 

“Okay, we’re here,” Crowley said, suddenly, pulling Aziraphale to a stop. He stepped back, taking his hands away from Aziraphale, and Aziraphale had to restrain himself from leaning backward to follow the touch. 

Instead, he busied himself with pulling off his sunglasses and folding them up carefully to put them in the breast pocket of his coat. When he finally looked up from his intense study of the sidewalk, he realized that they were standing in front of the old bookshop Crowley had introduced him to last week. 

“What are we doing here?” he asked, not understanding. 

Crowley just smiled at him and nodded toward the dusty shop window. For a second, Aziraphale still didn’t get it, but then he saw the sign in the corner: ‘Opening Soon!’

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, excitedly. “Did someone buy the shop from Mr. Mullens? Oh, that’s wonderful, now it won’t have to close!”

“ _Someone_ didn’t buy the shop from Mr. Mullens,” Crowley said, lowly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “I bought the shop. For you. As a present.” When Aziraphale stared at him, unable to find words, Crowley quickly started to backtrack. “I mean, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want it. It’s really big, and I might have overstepped, and I’m sorry, we can just go to lunch and I won’t mention it again-”

“Crowley, I love it,” Aziraphale interrupted him, before Crowley could panic his way into giving the shop away to the first person they saw. “This is incredible. Thank you so much.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, abruptly running out of steam. “You, uh, you like the shop?”

“I _love_ the shop,” Aziraphale repeated, emphatically. 

“You want to look inside?” Crowley asked, pulling a small golden key out of his jacket pocket. 

“Yes!” Aziraphale said, snatching the key from Crowley’s outstretched hand and dashing toward the door. 

Crowley followed behind at a slower pace, closing the door softly behind him as he watched Aziraphale prowl around the stacks. It had only been a week since Aziraphale had been to the shop for his first and only time, but he loved it just as much now as he had when he first saw it. He wandered through the shelves, running his fingers lightly along the dusty spines and using a bit of magic to restore the delicate books to their once-pristine condition. There wasn’t as much damage as he feared; the previous owner had clearly cared for his books a great deal, and Aziraphale silently vowed to love the shop just as much. 

“Crowley, this is wonderful,” he said, as he rejoined the demon in the middle of the shop. “I don’t - I don’t know how to ever thank you for this.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Crowley said, with a jerky shrug, his cheeks pink. “I just remembered how much you said you liked this place, and I figured you’d need a place here on Earth to call your own, if Heaven’s going to leave you down here for the long term.”

“Well, thank you, anyway,” Aziraphale said, and then seized by an impulse he couldn’t name, he went up on his toes and pressed his lips to Crowley’s cheek. Only for the briefest of seconds, but long enough to earn him a startled look, Crowley’s mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he stared at Aziraphale. 

“Nghk,” he croaked out. “Angel, you-”

“I don’t know why I did that,” Aziraphale confessed, the horror of what he’d just done dawning on him. “Crowley, I’m sorry-”

“I’m not,” Crowley interrupted him. “You can - you can do that again, if you want.”

“I can’t,” Aziraphale protested. “Kissing, it’s - it’s a sin. It’s Lust. And I’m an angel, I can’t just-”

“Humans-” Crowley’s voice croaked on the word, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. “Humans kiss each other all the time without being lustful,” he said, carefully. “They kiss to say hello, to say good-bye-”

“To say thank you?” Aziraphale ventured, just as cautiously. 

“Exactly,” Crowley said. “And I know you like your human traditions.”

“I wouldn’t want to eschew human tradition,” Aziraphale agreed, his eyes never leaving Crowley. 

“Hell forbid,” Crowley said, with a wry twist of his lips. 

“Right,” Aziraphale said, softly, and then before he could lose his nerve, he lunged forward and pressed his lips to Crowley’s. 

Their first attempt at an actual kiss was clumsy and awkward, Aziraphale’s nose smashing against Crowley’s, painfully, and their teeth knocking together with an audible click. He almost pulled away to apologize, but then Crowley’s hand was on his cheek, guiding him back in close. 

“Like this, Angel,” he breathed, and then he kissed Aziraphale again, properly this time. 

Aziraphale had devoured an untold amount of books since humanity had invented the written word, no few of them on the topic of romance. A common theme he’d come across was the idea that being kissed properly brought with the sound of a chorus of angels singing. He’d always considered it to be a bit fanciful and ridiculous before, but now he was starting to see why humans would have phrased it that way. Maybe there was no actual chorus of angels, but he certainly felt like breaking out in song as he kissed Crowley. 

When they finally broke apart an eternity later, Crowley pulled back only far enough to be able to look down at Aziraphale, fingers brushing against the back of Aziraphale’s neck in a gentle caress. There was something almost unbearable affectionate in his eyes, a warmth that Aziraphale basked in. 

“Was that all right, Angel?” Crowley asked, a hesitant note in his voice, like he was afraid that, after all that, Aziraphale could possibly reject him. 

“That was more than all right,” Aziraphale told him. “My dear, that was perfect.”

* * *

So, too, were the following days. Long walks hand-in-hand through the park, feeding the ducks at the pond, lazy dinners at the Ritz, spending nights curled around each other in the cozy warmth of the bookshop - Aziraphale couldn’t imagine how things could get any better. 

Well, maybe one thing…

“My dear, we need to talk.”

“Well that sounds ominous.” There was a lightness in Crowley’s tone that was belied by the tension in his body, the way he looked poised to vanish in a heartbeat. Aziraphale was sure he would, once he’d heard what Aziraphale had to say.

“I have something to confess,” he went on, instead. “I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

“Honest about what?” Crowley asked, confused. “Angel, what are you talking about?”

“I’m not here on Earth just because Heaven wants an agent down here,” Aziraphale told him. This was so hard to say, but Crowley deserved the truth, even if he never wanted to speak to Aziraphale after. “They sent me specifically for you. To redeem you,” he elaborated, when Crowley only looked more confused. “Operation: Lost Sheep, Gabriel called it. They want to redeem demons and bring them back to Heaven.”

“Heaven wants to redeem my soul,” Crowley echoed, slowly. He didn’t look elated at the idea, but he also wasn’t leaving, so Aziraphale felt hopeful. 

“You could be so much more than a demon,” he said. “Crowley, you could be an angel, again. You could come back to Heaven, be a part of the Host, be with me-” He broke off as Crowley slowly shook his head, looking sorrowful. “Crowley, what’s wrong?”

“Heaven may have sent you down here, but they never expected you to succeed, you know?” The question was phrased in a casual tone, but there was something tense in the lines around Crowley’s eyes. 

“What are you talking about?” Aziraphale asked. “Gabriel personally picked me for this assignment. He told me that he had great faith in my ability to bring you back to the side of Good, faith that I could make you an angel, again.” A horrible thought occurred to him, and Aziraphale desperately hoped he was wrong. “Don’t you - don’t you want to be an angel again?” he asked, hesitantly. 

“I don’t think it matters to the Archangel Fucking Gabriel if I do or not,” Crowley said, which wasn’t the kind of answer Aziraphale had been looking for. “I don’t think Gabriel sent you down here to try and redeem my eternal soul.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Aziraphale protested. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to understand what Crowley meant.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, and there was something so careful in his voice, like he thought Aziraphale needed him to be gentle. Aziraphale both loved and hated him for it. “Angel, there was never any Operation: Lost Sheep. There was never any mission from God to try and redeem demons. Gabriel was just using you to further his own agenda.” He sounded so apologetic, like he was sorry for everything he was saying. Sorry that he was ripping Aziraphale’s entire worldview apart. 

“No,” Aziraphale protested, shaking his head, but Crowley wasn’t done.

“Think about it, Angel,” he insisted. “Gabriel and the other Archangels have spent the last six thousand years gearing up for the Apocalypse, for their epic battle with the forces of Hell. They had thousands of troops ready to march on Earth, for the glory of Heaven. And in less than an hour, Adam stopped the Apocalypse before it could even get started. He ruined all of Gabriel’s glorious plans.” Crowley sighed, looking suddenly very tired. “I may not remember much of Heaven, Angel, but I do remember Gabriel. And Gabriel does not like being made to look like a fool.”

“Then why am I here?” Aziraphale demanded, furiously. “If all Gabriel wants is his precious war, then what am I doing here? What’s the point of me being on Earth?”

“Because you’re their sacrificial lamb,” Crowley said, not even bothering to try and soften the blow. “They sent you down here to die, Angel. They wanted me to do their dirty work for them, wanted me to kill you so that they could use your death as an excuse to restart the war they so clearly want.”

“No, you’re wrong.”Aziraphale stumbled backward, away from the hand that Crowley reached out to him. “Gabriel wouldn’t do that to me. He’s not a _demon_.”

“And he’s not about to accept a bunch of demons in his precious Heaven, either,” Crowley shot back. “Think about it, Aziraphale. What’s more likely: that Gabriel is willing to send angels into the bowels of Hell to try and redeem demons, or that he’s lying to you about all of this? Let me give you a hint; Gabriel doesn’t give a damn about anyone other than himself. He certainly doesn’t care about a bunch of demons.”

“You’re lying,” Aziraphale protested. 

“I’m not,” Crowley replied, insistently. “What reason would I have to make any of this up? Why would I lie to you?”

“Because you’re evil,” Aziraphale shot back. He ignored the hurt look that flashed across Crowley’s face; it was nothing more than another attempt at manipulation. “You’re nothing more than that pathetic snake that lured Adam and Eve into sin - you even tried to do it with me! And I can’t believe that I was stupid enough to think that you’d ever be capable of changing your ways.”

“Aziraphale-”

“You’re wrong,” Aziraphale insisted, still backing away from Crowley. “You’re wrong, and I’ll prove to you that you’re wrong. Heaven would never do this to me.”

* * *

Back in the bookshop, it took almost half an hour to get the transportation circle set up correctly in the middle of the floor. He then had to go through all of the steps of the ritual that would allow him to enter the circle without immediately destroying his corporation. Finally, he had to make sure that the candles would safely extinguish themselves after he was gone; he’d grown inordinately fond of the old bookshop during his short time on Earth, and he’d hate to have anything happen to it. 

After all that, simply stepping into the circle to go back to Heaven seemed almost anticlimactic. 

Before stepping into the circle, he cast one last, longing look back at the door. A large part of him was still hoping for Crowley to burst into the shop, ready to apologize for all the things he’d said. Ready to change his ways and rejoin the Host. Ready to come home to ~~Aziraphale~~ Heaven.

But the door stayed firmly shut. Crowley wasn’t coming. Heaving a disappointed sigh, Aziraphale stepped across the border of the transportation circle and let it carry him back to Heaven. 

The circle had flared brilliantly white when he first stepped inside, leaving him temporarily blinded as he stumbled out on the other side. Rubbing futilely at his eyes to try and clear away the spots that danced in his vision, Aziraphale looked around as he tried to get his bearings. He’d landed in the quartermaster’s office, not far from where he’d originally departed. The office was empty save for the quartermaster’s desk and the illuminated globe spinning in lazy circle on its axis. 

Aziraphale found himself swamped by a wave of homesickness as he stared at London on the globe: homesick for the delights of the city, for his beloved bookshop, for the demon who’d introduced him to so many wonderful people and places…

“Stop it,” he told himself, firmly, his voice bouncing off the walls of the empty room. “Crowley made his choice, and it wasn’t with me. I have to learn to live with that.”

Too bad he didn’t feel nearly as confident as he sounded. 

Aziraphale left the quartermaster’s office in search of Gabriel, determined to put the whole Crowley situation behind him once and for all. He’d confess to Gabriel that his part of the mission had been a failure, that there was no way to redeem the Serpent of Eden. Then he’d accept whatever chastisement Gabriel deemed acceptable and rejoin his proper place in Heaven, far, far away from Earth and everyone on it. 

He found Gabriel in his office, poring over a stack of glossy paper on his desk. He rapped lightly on the door frame to get Gabriel’s attention. 

“Excuse me, Gabriel, I was wondering if you had a minute to talk?”

Gabriel looked up, and Aziraphale was driven back by the force of his glare. He was used to all sorts of looks from Gabriel - disappointed, upset, even angry - but this was downright murderous. 

“Get in here and close the door,” Gabriel commanded, before Aziraphale could say anything. Aziraphale crept into the office and shut the door behind him with a soft click, keeping a wary gaze on Gabriel the entire time. “Sit down, Aziraphale.” 

“I need to talk to you about the demon, Crowley-” Aziraphale began.

“Shut up,” Gabriel snapped, a harsh tone in his voice that Aziraphale had never heard. “What in the name of Hell are you doing back here?”

“See, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about-”

“Shut. Up.” Gabriel repeated, the force of his magic freezing Aziraphale’s words in his throat. He opened and closed his mouth, but no sound could emerge. “Do you understand,” Gabriel went on, glaring at him, “just how many months of planning you’ve ruined? Bad enough that a demon stopped the Apocalypse we’ve been working toward for six thousand years, but then you don’t even have the decency to die down on that miserable pile of mud like you were supposed to.”

He glared at Aziraphale like he was expecting some kind of answer, and then waved his hand impatiently to unfreeze his voice. 

“Crowley was right,” Aziraphale said, when he could finally speak. “You don’t want to redeem him, or any other demon. You just want your war with Hell.”

“Our war with Hell has been foretold,” Gabriel told him. “And I’m not going to let the likes of one scrawny demon and his pet Antichrist stop me from my destined role in Heaven’s victory.”

“Everything Crowley and Adam did to save Earth, and you just want to destroy it,” Aziraphale accused him. “What about God’s command to love humanity?”

“We’re doing this for humanity,” Gabriel told him. “Those little mud-grubbers are so young, so clueless; they don’t know what’s best for them.”

“How is destroying humanity doing what’s best for them?” Aziraphale demanded. 

“We’re not destroying all of them,” Gabriel said, with a dismissive wave. “Just a couple billion or so. And anyway, all the really bad ones will end up in Hell, so it’s like Earth gets a big do-over!” 

He beamed at Aziraphale, like this was somehow good news. Aziraphale, for his part, was completely speechless. He couldn’t imagine how Gabriel could be so casual about the impending destruction of the entire planet. 

“Anyway,” Gabriel went on, when Aziraphale was silent for long enough that it started to become awkward, “this war is going to happen, Aziraphale. It _has_ to happen; it’s the Great Plan. And we all have our roles in the Great Plan, don’t we?”

“Last time, mine was meant to be at the head of my platoon,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Why would you send me to Earth, then?”

“Oh, I gave command of your platoon to someone else,” Gabriel told him. “No, Aziraphale, like I told you when we started this: you have a very special role in all of this. You’re going to be our martyr. Of course, I’d rather the demon had killed you, himself,” Gabriel went on, oblivious to the horrified look on Aziraphale’s face. “But, I can adapt. I’m flexible like that.”

“I’m not going to just roll over and let you kill me!” Aziraphale protested. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “It’s cute that you think you can actually stop me,” he said. 

He waved a hand and Aziraphale felt his knees buckle underneath him, sending him crashing painfully to the floor. His vision started to darken as Gabriel came to stand over him, and he suddenly felt very small. 

“Don’t worry, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, his voice growing more and more distant by the second. “You should be proud of the part you’re about to play. None of this could happen without you.”

* * *

It was hard to measure time by Earthly standards, especially in the bright, shadowless cell he’d woken up in. He’d been taught that there was nothing worse than darkness, but he’d argue that darkness had nothing on the unending light he was being subjected to. There was no escape from the blinding blaze that lit up every corner of the cell, nowhere for him to hide. The light seared painfully even through his closed eyelids, making his head pound and his heart race. It was so bright he couldn’t even see anything outside the cell; for all he knew, the entire Host was an eager audience to his captive humiliation.

It was hard to measure time in the cell, but he figured it had to have been at least a couple of days by the time the light finally snapped off, leaving him blinking away ghostly afterimages as he was plunged into sudden darkness. Rubbing at his eyes, Aziraphale squinted to try and make out the blurry figure heading toward his cell, a figure that revealed itself to be Gabriel once he was close enough.

“I hope you enjoyed our accommodations,” Gabriel said, a nasty smirk spreading across his face. “Get up, Aziraphale.”

“What now?” Aziraphale asked, warily, standing up and moving away from the door that appeared at a wave of Gabriel’s hand. 

“Now? Now you’re going to be executed,” Gabriel told him. “Move.”

Aziraphale tried to resist, but another snap of Gabriel’s fingers had his feet unwillingly stumbling forward, carrying him out of the cell to Gabriel’s side. He glared at the Archangel, but the effect was rendered useless when Gabriel simply turned and walked away, the force of his magic dragging Aziraphale along in his wake. Gabriel pulled him down a series of twisting hallways to a part of Heaven he’d never seen before, a big open space with windows overlooking Earth, below. The room was empty except for Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon, and someone who positively oozed demonic energy. The figure turned away from their conversation with Michael, and Aziraphale was shocked to recognize Beelzebub. What was the Prince of Hell doing in Heaven?

“What, no audience for my execution?” Aziraphale demanded, as they came to a stop in the center of the room. 

“You are a failure and a traitor to Heaven, and your execution is strictly need-to-know,” Michael told him, her voice bouncing off the walls of the empty room. “The Host does not need to know. The Host will only know what we tell them about your fate.”

“The Host isn’t stupid,” he protested, weakly. “They’ll figure out what you’ve done.”

“The Host doesn’t want to figure out what we’ve done,” Gabriel informed him. “They want this war just as much as we do; they don’t care what we have to do to make it happen.”

“Surely, some of the other angels-”

“You can’t possibly be this dense,” Gabriel interrupted him, rolling his eyes. “None of the other angels like you, Aziraphale, no one’s going to care that you’re gone.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Gabriel!” 

Aziraphale sagged with relief, as much as Gabriel’s magic restraints would let him. He hadn’t let himself hope for any kind of rescue, but trust Crowley to come sweeping in like a knight in shining armor, anyway. He managed to crane his head around to see Crowley standing in the doorway, his wings mantled behind him and a tire iron held in his fist like a sword. He looked ready to take on the Archangels and Beelzebub, singlehandedly. 

“Let. Him. Go.” Crowley said, each word falling into the stunned silence with clipped precision. His wings flared with each step he took into the room, and the tire iron glowed with an unearthly energy, like flames of hellfire licking along the surface. 

“Do you really think you can challenge all of us, Crawly?” Beelzebub said, derision dripping from their voice. 

“Or die trying,” Crowley shot back, fearlessly. 

“You’ll die, then,” Uriel said, and then she struck out at him before Aziraphale even saw her move, a gleaming sword held high in her hands. 

Crowley met her sword with his tire iron, the metal glowing brightly for a moment before shearing away in a clean break. Undaunted, Crowley lunged forward with the longer of the two pieces, aiming for Uriel’s chest. She blocked the blow with a disbelieving laugh, but the sound cut out abruptly when she - and everyone else in the room - realized that Crowley had managed to drive the shorter piece straight into her side. 

She stumbled backward, pulling the tire iron shard out of Crowley’s hands. Glaring viciously at him, she yanked the piece out of her side and tossed it away. Dark blood oozed sluggishly from the rapidly-closing wound under her fingers. 

“The next one won’t heal up so nicely,” Crowley threatened, darkly, brandishing what was left of his tire iron. “For the last time, let Aziraphale go.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Beelzebub said, before any of the Archangels could answer him. 

They snapped their fingers, ropes materializing out of thin air to wrap around Crowley in a crushing grip, covering him all the way from his mouth to his toes and hefting him into the air. The tire iron clattered to the floor, falling from his nerveless fingers. He struggled, but he couldn’t break the grip of the Prince of Hell. 

“Watch and learn, traitor,” Beelzebub said, crossing the room to stand in front of Crowley. “You may have escaped punishment before, but you won’t be so lucky this time.” With another twitch of their fingers, they spun Crowley around to face Aziraphale. 

“Yes, let’s get this over with,” Michael said, impatiently. “We have more important things to attend to.”

Gabriel nodded at Beelzebub. “Lord Beelzebub, if you would, please?”

Beelzebub waved their hand, and a roaring column of hellfire sprang to life in the center of the room. Without a word, Gabriel used his magic to drag Aziraphale forward, closer and closer to the flames. Behind him, he could hear Crowley’s screams through the rope around his mouth, and he twisted around to see Crowley struggling fruitlessly against the hold Beelzebub had on him.

“Crowley, I’m sorry!” he called out, trying to be heard over the roaring of the hellfire and the frantic beating of his own heart. “I didn’t mean those things I said, I’m so sorry, Crowley, I lo-”

The rest of his words were cut off when Gabriel slammed his fist into the side of his head, making his ears ring and his vision blur. 

“Just shut up and die, already,” Gabriel snapped at him. 

“Don’t do this,” he begged Gabriel, trying desperately to shrink back from the searing heat. “Please, Gabriel. God can’t possibly want this to happen.”

“God’s not here,” Gabriel told him, and then he put his hand on Aziraphale’s back and shoved him directly into the middle of the fire. 

He expected there to be pain. He expected to scream and writhe in agony while he waited to be discorporated. He expected a growing darkness as he died, and then a complete and total nothingness. 

Instead, he felt nothing from the fire. He heard the roar of the flames, watched tongues of fire dance across his skin - but he remained whole and unharmed. And after a few seconds, he realized that Gabriel’s magic was gone and he could move again. 

He strolled out the fire to see Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel staring at him in wordless shock. Gabriel was the first to recover, his face contorting with fury. “How?” he demanded. “How are you still alive?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“You did something, didn’t you?” Gabriel accused him. “Down on Earth, you and that demon, you did something-”

“No,” came a new voice, before Aziraphale could say anything. 

A woman came walking across the empty room, although Aziraphale couldn’t have said where she came from. She was bathed with a light that seemed to come from within herself. Her face was - her face - every time Aziraphale tried to look directly at her, a wave of white static washed across his brain. She was…ineffable.

“This was not Aziraphale’s doing,” God said, Her voice like the peal of terrible bells. “It was mine.”

No one moved as She glided across the room to Aziraphale’s side. The other angels seemed to actually be frozen in place, although Aziraphale could see Gabriel’s eyes moving rapidly back and forth, something like fear in his expression. Aziraphale empathized, because he was feeling no small amount of fear, himself. 

“Lord,” he breathed, unable to form a more coherent thought.

“My child,” She said, smiling at him. “I am very proud of you, Aziraphale. You should be proud of yourself.”

When She moved away, Aziraphale reflexively gasped for a breath he didn’t truly need. He watched Her move to where Crowley was still hanging in midair, by himself as Beelzebub had fled. She raised a hand to cup his cheek, the ropes melting away under Her touch, and Crowley staggered as he hit the floor, his wary eyes never leaving God even as he leaned into the hand on his skin. 

“You came,” he whispered, hoarsely. 

“You have always been so brave, so strong,” God said, “no matter what I asked of you. How could I be any less?” 

“I’m not-” Crowley started to protest, but then trailed off into speechlessness, too stunned to speak. 

“You have always loved humanity,” She went on, “even more than I ever could have dreamed of. You have been their stalwart guardian, even when it would have been easier to turn your back.”

“They needed me,” Crowley said. 

“So do they still,” God told him. “Both of you,” She added, turning to Aziraphale. You will protect the Earth and its people. And neither Heaven nor Hell, not angel nor demon, will interfere with your mission.”

Her voice rang out, the words resonating through Aziraphale’s bones and imprinting themselves on his very soul. From the terrified looks on the Archangels’ faces, they’d experienced the same effect; Aziraphale had no doubt that all of Hell heard it as well. He opened his mouth to say something, and then his vision went white and a roaring sound filled his ears. 

When he could see and hear again, he was standing in the middle of the bookshop. He heard a wheezing breath from behind him, and he spun around to see Crowley standing in the shadows, a stunned look on his face. 

“You’re alive,” Crowley said, wonderingly, and then he lunged forward to wrap his arms around Aziraphale and bury his face in the crook of his shoulder. “Angel, I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I thought that, too,” Aziraphale confessed, shakily, holding as tightly to Crowley as he dared. “I was so - Crowley, your wings!”

“What about my wings?” Crowley demanded, pulling away and spreading his wings out to their full length to inspect them. His eyes went wide with shock.

Because his wings were no longer their velvety, lustrous black. Instead, his wings were now soot gray with the tips a deep crimson, like they’d been dipped in blood. The effect was striking, to say the very least. 

“What happened to my wings?” Crowley demanded, tearing his eyes away from them to look at Aziraphale. “Did they look like this up in Heaven?”

“No,” Aziraphale told him, shaking his head. “No, your wings were still black up there. It was just after we arrived here-”

“After God sent us here,” Crowley corrected him, abruptly. “Better take a look at your wings, Angel. I don’t think I’m the only one who’s changed.”

“Why would God change our wings?” Aziraphale asked, even as he stepped away from Crowley to manifest his wings. As predicted, his wings were an identical match for Crowley’s, gray and red. 

“What if She didn’t just change our wings?” Crowley asked. “What if She changed what we are? What if you’re not an angel, or I’m not a demon?”

“But then what are we?” Aziraphale asked, cautiously. 

“If I had to guess,” Crowley told him, “I’d say human. Or, at least as human as it’s possible for us to get. You heard Her; we’re to protect humanity. Heaven and Hell certainly haven’t been doing the job, so it’s up to us.”

“And we become something new in the process,” Aziraphale said, wonderingly. “Something beyond Heaven and Hell.”

“You know what that means?” Crowley asked him, a slow smile creeping across his face. Off Aziraphale’s confused look, he elaborated: “It means we’re free, Angel. No Heaven, no Hell. Just us.”

“Free,” Aziraphale echoed. “I don’t know if I know what to do with freedom,” he confessed, sheepishly.

“That’s the best part,” Crowley told him. “We can do anything we like.”


End file.
